


This Fire

by lalazee



Category: Star Trek (2009)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, Angst, F/M, Humor, M/M, Mutant, Teenagers, Work In Progress, X-Men Crossover
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-26
Updated: 2011-04-26
Packaged: 2017-10-18 16:48:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,520
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/191047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lalazee/pseuds/lalazee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A year in the life of one mutant James T. Kirk, age seventeen, and his time spent in the Pike Institute for Higher Learning.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“Hi everyone, I’m James T. Kirk and I could set you all on fire if I wanted to.”

The students were dead silent and Professor Pike pinched the bridge of his nose. “That’s not exactly the kind of introduction I was hoping for, Jim.”

Jim scratched his jaw and coolly inspected the motley crew standing behind Pike like a wall. “Whatever man – can I see my room now? I better not be sharing with anyone because that would seriously rain on my parade.”

In other words, Jim’s reoccurring nightmares often had him flaring up and setting his sheets ablaze. It was kind of embarrassing and not something he wanted anyone to be aware of.

“Actually,” Pike responded with raised eyebrows. “You’ll be rooming with one of our most promising students, Spock.”

 _Spock_.

Jim eyed the tall, staid Vulcan who stood directly behind Pike. They regarded each other with mutual suspicion. Jim didn’t yet know what Spock’s deal was – that is, what his freak-show abilities were. In fact, just by looking at the few mutants gathered in the room, Jim couldn’t particularly gauge _any_ of their talents.

Oh, well except for the kid with _wings_ – Pavel?

The rest of them: Uhura, Scotty, Sulu, McCoy and Gaila all looked relatively normal. Gaila was green but she was just Orion, so no big shock there. No – just like Jim, none of them were particularly telling.

Jim sarcastically grumbled, “Great,” and hefted up the single duffel he’d brought when Pike had dragged him into this shit.

There hadn’t been much to pack amid the charred heaps of rubble and the acrid smell of burnt flesh.

“Actually, y’know what?” Jim said and dropped his bag on the floor with a thump. “I need some air.”

Without another word or heed to Pike’s calling after him, Jim turned and flung open the glass doors to the expansive gardens. With quick, long strides he escaped into what appeared to be a wild rose garden. The San Francisco sun warmed his skin and eased the rush of blood to his head that hinted of panic.

Jim paused at a small fountain adorned with angels and looked to the cloudless sky. He squinted directly into the sun and allowed himself a smile at the bright white splotches that marred his vision.

He hadn’t wanted _air_. Jim had needed the _sun_ – always had.

“Your behaviour is most unbecoming for a person who has been taken in by Professor Pike,” a cold voice prickled at Jim’s skin.

Jim sucked in a sharp breath and turned on his heel, a glare already twisting his features. “And your behaviour is fucking _creepy_ if you consider the way you sneak up on people.”

Spock merely tilted his head as if Jim was a squished bug beneath a microscope. “Considering how little your presence means to me, I find myself uncaring of your assessment of my person.”

“Oh, good.” Jim bared his teeth in mirror of a smile. “I feel the same. Except _I’ll_ just put it into laymen terms for you.”

Jim kissed the pad of his middle finger loudly as he flipped Spock the bird, and then turned down the dirt path he desperately hoped would lead him back to the mansion. His sense of direction had never been one of his talents.

And _goddamn_ if he didn’t hear crunching, balanced footsteps behind him. Jim whirled on Spock, his face going red.

“What?” he snapped. “Whaddaya want? To escort me back? I know my way, okay?”

Spock raised a severe eyebrow, but otherwise his expression was blank. “I find that interesting, as you are currently travelling north-west of your intended destination.”

Jim bristled at being corrected. “Oh, _shut_ up. What do you want, anyway? Did you search me out just to berate me or was it to make me feel _sad_ about ruining my little homecoming party? Because lemme just make this clear now.”

Jim stepped up to Spock, displeased to find that there was a few inches of height difference between them. He squared up his shoulders and looked Spock in those dark, stony eyes.

“This isn’t my home and it’s never going to be. I certainly don’t _need_ one, and I don’t need a makeshift father or family or what-the- _fuck_ -ever. What I need is a roof over my head ‘til I hit eighteen next year and then I’ll be out of your perfect hair. _Got_ it?”

Over the course of Jim’s short tirade, Spock’s eyes had begun to travel along the column of Jim’s neck and down to his bare arms. When Jim finished, he looked down at his hands with mute horror.

Charcoal lines engraved the length of Jim’s arms and hands; seeped through his veins in stark contrast to the gold of his skin. Spread like a virus that inflamed his blood and shot his heart through with fire and anger.

Jim’s heated emotions were laid so fucking _bare_ before the world, and it only triggered further fury.

Spock’s words were brittle, careful as traversing thin ice. “What, specifically, do your abilities entail, Mr. Kirk?”

“What do _yours_ , _Mister_ Spock?” Jim shot back on autopilot. He tore his gaze from black-laced wrists and gave Spock a hard stare.

“I am a high level telepath with a number of related abilities. I also possess some level of telekinesis, although both talents still require years of training to master and control.”

Jim raised his eyebrows. “Fancy.”

Spock aimed a pointed look Jim’s way. “You have yet to enlighten me regarding your power.”

“I already told you. I set things on fire.”

Spock’s eyes narrowed minutely, perhaps in annoyance. “In what capacity?”

Jim sighed and brushed past Spock, their shoulders catching slightly as Jim headed back the way they had originally come.

“Why don’t you just gossip with Pike? I’m sure he’d be happy to explain the logistics, since he seems to understand more of it than I do.”

Spock sounded close behind him. “You would rather I speak of you, as Humans say, behind your back?”

“I – no,” Jim admitted more than a little begrudgingly.

He paused at the fountain and stared blankly at the three paths which headed in varied directions. Spock indicated with a slight angling of his chin the correct way. Jim scowled, but went on ahead anyway.

“I guess I...”

In truth, Jim had never genuinely voiced his abilities. His mother and step-father had been vaguely aware that something ‘wasn’t right’, and so had Sam before he’d skipped town. But no one had really _said_ it. As if admitting to Jim’s horrific talents would somehow make them legitimately real and all the more dangerous.

But this place was different. The Pike Institute for Higher Learning was not like any other place. Here – well, _here_ you owned up to this sort of shit or else you wouldn’t be living here in the first place.

“Basically I,” Jim swallowed the knot in his throat and cursed himself for making this into something bigger than it was. Okay, this was huge – he’d accidentally incinerated his entire life because of this secret.

But Jim would fake it ‘til he made it. He was good at that – one of his better talents.

“I essentially absorb solar energy. I’m kind of _bleh_ without the sun. I pretty much metabolise it into physical strength or convert it into thrust and fly for a little while, or I can...”

Jim gritted his teeth. “Or I can channel it into heat.” The last admission came out almost as a whisper. “Unbelievable heat.”

He conveniently left out the part that when Jim was performing _any_ of these acts, his skin melted into a blackened mass of what could only be described as dark energy. He turned into a living sunspot. It was lame, to say the very least.

Jim didn’t dare look behind him to gauge Spock’s reaction. Not that he cared what some douche thought about him. Roommates or not, they weren’t going to get _close_. Chances were that once Spock experienced one of Jim’s nightmares and saw him for the creature that he was, their lack of a relationship would plummet rather efficiently.

Jim wouldn’t even have to be a dick to scare this one off.

Well, he would still be one, but that went without saying.

To Jim’s relief, they arrived at the doors to Pike’s office once again. Spock didn’t say a word to Jim about the confession. In fact, he was eerily silent.

When they got inside, Pike was there with his ridiculously patient eyes and his stupid knowing smirk that told Jim he wasn’t going to give up that easily. Jim mumbled something that may have been an apology or a ‘fuck you’ – regardless, Spock led Jim into the heart of the mansion and to the room they’d be sharing.

That night, Jim awoke in flames with the sounds of screams ringing in his ears.

His flesh _hurt_ ; felt cracked and split at the seams as the absence of skin-tone bled into the pitch dark of the room. His fingertips seared holes into the new sheets, his new mattress – burnt away at his new life.

Then there were hands on his cheeks, cool as balm; thumbs traced his jaw and pads soothed his temples.

 _Calm. Be calm, Jim._

Jim blinked away the red haze and the flickering dreams and finally _saw_ – saw _Spock_.

Spock’s pale face in the dark; his hair mussed from sleep and his eyes so very fucking sober as if this were the most serious thing that had happened in the history of ever.

Jim winced at his own pathetic whimper when his hands came up to grip Spock’s wrists. Jim croaked, “I’m here,” without truly understanding why he said it. To ground himself, probably.

Soft palms lingered at his cheekbones for a moment longer before they slipped away. Spock’s voice was indescribable in the silence of the night.

“Yes, you are.”


	2. Chapter 2

Jim didn’t inspect the scorch marks in the mattress that screamed of the previous evening’s night terror. He did, however, notice the clean white bed dressings folded and set atop his dresser. Jim stripped the bed, balled the sheets on the floor and left it at that for now.

He kept his mind blank as he rummaged through his still unpacked duffel for some vaguely suitable clothing. As Jim tugged on a pair of jeans that still echoed of Iowa dust and the delicate aroma of his mothers detergent, he eyed the other half of the room.

Everything was neat and orderly – as expected of a Vulcan. Jim wondered if it got boring being so damn predictable.

Then he recalled those dark, calm eyes and the steady hands on his face. The way Spock had lightly pushed Jim back to the mattress and pressed his fingertips to Jim’s forehead – murmuring, _sleep_.

Okay, maybe Spock wasn’t entirely predictable. But still – Jim knew better than to try and befriend a frosty know-it-all like Spock.

Tugging on an old Riverside High t-shirt and his boots, Jim wandered out of his room and into the spacious corridor. After a bit of aimless exploring and glaring at anyone who looked as if they might strike up a conversation this early in the day, Jim skulked into the long dining hall.

Conversation halted within the room. Forty-ish pairs of eyes inspected Jim – and he glowered in reply. What was he, a freak among freaks?

“If you wait long enough, I do a trick.” Jim smiled and held up his middle finger. “Oh – there it is!”

No one reacted or looked surprised. Instead, dialogue took up its natural cadence and Jim was free to raid the dwindling buffet of a plate-full of bacon smothered in maple syrup, two bananas and a tall glass of milk. He couldn’t quite recall the last time he’d eaten – yesterday morning, before arriving at the Institute? Jim had skipped dinner in favour of hiding in his room and sitting on the balcony that overlooked the back gardens.

Jim picked out a spot at one of the two dining tables – a place that had the least amount of teens gathered around – and plopped down. He’d barely had time to hunch over his food and dig in before two of his fellow freaks sat noisily before him.

Munching on a greasy strip of bacon, Jim openly inspected his assailants. He recognised the Orion as Gaila and the ginger guy as Scotty. Jim hadn’t talked to them, though. Yesterday hadn’t been a particularly successful meet-and-greet.

Gaila and Scotty welcomed Jim with simultaneously exclamations of, “Good morning!” and “Hiya!”, respectively.

Jim chewed slowly and stared, wondering who had put them up to this. “Something you need?” he asked with a full mouth.

Gaila pouted bright coral lips. “Now see, you’re not going to make _any_ friends with an attitude like that, honey.”

Jim’s lips curled. “That’s the plan.”

Gaila and Scotty exchanged a look, although Scotty didn’t say anything as he was busy stuffing what looked like a sausage and scrambled egg sandwich into his mouth. Gaila rolled her eyes.

“So you’re one of those. Well Jimmy, let me tell you something. We’re all coming from shitty places in our lives, but you don’t see us sulking about it. So get your head out of your ass and loosen up.”

At some point during Gaila’s warm and fuzzy welcome speech, Jim’s glass of milk paused halfway to his mouth as he mutely boggled at her.

Scotty had a bite of breakfast sandwich jammed in his cheek as he stared at Gaila. He chewed quickly and swallowed, turning to grin apologetically at Jim.

“Eh, I think the lass is tryin’ to say that it’s no so bad here as it first seems. Aye, they’ve no got Irn Bru or Monster Munch, but there’s plenty of sandwiches and that.”

Jim took a contemplative gulp of milk. Despite his best efforts not to, he thought Gaila was okay. He didn’t come across many people who were straight forward. Most were just assholes – or assholes in disguise. Jim knew he was the former most of the time, and yet here was Gaila talking to him anyway.

He set his empty glass down with a crack.

“Right,” he bit off, as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Well, thanks for the pep talk, guys. But I’m only sticking around for a year _tops_ , and then I’m bustin’ this joint. I’m not exactly in the market for,” Jim trailed off and waved a hand between them, encompassing whatever was going here, “this shit.”

What was the point of making friends if you knew you were going to abandon them in twelve months time? It wasn’t worth the hassle _or_ the emotional investment. Jim was really just doing them all a favour.

“Ach now, Jimmy-boy,” Scotty chimed in dauntlessly. “Don’t make this harder for yoursel’ than it already is. Just enjoy what Pike’s givin’ ya here and forget about the hardships. There’s no fun in draggin’ around that shite.”

“He’s right, you know,” Gaila added with an easy smile. “It’ll do you no good to walk around the Institute with a chip in your shoulder. Everyone here has learned that to some extent or another.”

She leaned across the table, her voice warming. “We _get_ it. You don’t want to get attached. And yeah, you’re allowed to own that fear, but – let’s face it – that’s a pretty chicken-shit way to live. You won’t gain anything here by being an asshole, but your life will _change_ if you just let go a little.”

Gaila and Scotty looked rather pleased with themselves, while Jim scowled.

But what they didn’t realise was that if Jim _let go_ , his powers would almost certainly follow suit. Jim wouldn’t take that risk. While the stench of charred flesh still filled his nostrils, he would never take a real chance.

“Yeah,” Jim said, just so they’d leave him alone. It was a nice sentiment, but was wasted on someone like him.

Someone who could so easily hurt the people he loved and walk away from the carnage.

To Jim’s relief, some sightless bell jangled, signalling the commencement of classes.

Gaila and Scotty said their goodbyes – the former giving Jim a wink and informing him of her room number, and the latter busy stuffing the remainder of his breakfast in his mouth to do anything but wave in Jim’s general direction before departing.

It was strange. They were both so _normal_. Just like any other teenagers going to school and living their lives. They didn’t seem like the types to bring a trail of destruction like Jim did.

As students clamoured out of the room in clustered, talkative groups, Jim realised that he hadn’t been given a class schedule or a map of the school. That wasn’t so bad if he thought about it, because it meant he could skive until someone noticed he was missing. If he was lucky, no one would.

Unfortunately, Jim was as unlucky as they came – and that was enforced when he spotted a familiar wheelchair slipping into the room. Jim scraped his seat back with a put-upon sigh and ambled over to Professor Pike.

“Hey Wheels, how’s it hangin’?”

Pike didn’t react with anything but a patient smile. The bastard.

“Morning, Jim. I came to give you a class schedule. You rushed out yesterday before we could go over it.” The Professor handed Jim a top-of-the-line PADD. “I’m afraid you’ll have to wing it as best you can until we can get together and figure out the courses best suited to you.”

Jim flicked on the PADD and quickly scrolled through his classes. Monday, Wednesday, and Friday he had Biology, easy – Health, useless _and_ easy – English, unnecessary because he could already speak it – Computer Systems, most likely fun but too easy – Combat... _awesome_. Tuesday and Thursday consisted of Math at the ass-crack of morning, Morality – how is that even a class? – and History. _Gross_.

“Sure,” Jim said blandly, not really giving a shit if his classes suited him or not. He looked down at Pike and gave a little flail-shrug. “Thanks, I guess.”

He moved to slip past the Professor, when calloused hand settled on his wrist.

“Spock informed me about last night, Jim,” Pike said quietly, as if the softer he spoke the less it would hurt. What a load of bull.

“What?” Jim jerked out of reach and barked an incredulous laugh. Of course – of course Spock had. He seemed like the type. “ _And_?”

Professor Pike didn’t seem perturbed by Jim’s reaction. He met Jim’s gaze with steady grey eyes.

“And I need you to know that you’re in a safe place now. You can come to me or someone else you come to trust, with your problems.” Pike must have gauged the incredulous look on Jim’s face, because he added, “I know you feel alone right now, but you’re not. You won’t be abandoned during the time when your abilities begin to manifest. We’ve all been there and we’ve all felt the fear, but you don’t have to face it by yourself.”

Jim felt something stir inside of him – but it was an unfamiliar and unpleasant experience, and so he rode the discomfort it caused him.

“That’s a nice speech, Professor, but it’s wasted on me. I mean, I’m _here_ aren’t I? That’s good enough. Now,” Jim continued as he watched Pike open his mouth to no doubt spew some more guru crap. “Point me in the direction of Bio or roll aside.”

Pike smiled in that infuriating way he had. “Happy to. You’ll like Doctor McCoy.”

Before Jim could suspiciously ask _why_ , he was given prompt directions and almost literally shoved towards his classroom.

Jim got lost twice. It was a really big mansion and Jim’s internal compass was permanently on the fritz. When he finally slunk into the correct room, class had already begun. There were only seven students – including Jim – which was sort of annoying, because it would be obvious when Jim grew bored. Well, at least he’d be able to skate through his classes with relative ease – albeit crippling boredom.

The teacher, professor, mutant dude, whatever – Doctor McCoy – paused midsentence to scowl at Jim. “You’re late,” he snapped.

“It’s a big house,” Jim said, slumping into the only free desk.

“Just don’t do it again, kid. I’m not teaching this stuff for myself.”

Jim raised his eyebrows and levelly met the doctor’s manic expression. _Why_ exactly, had Pike thought Jim would like this guy? Maybe it had been a case of misinterpreted sarcasm.

“Everyone is a student of life, Doc,” Jim said with deliberate sobriety.

Several students in the class snickered and Jim only recognised one guy beside him – Sulu. Doctor McCoy grumbled something colourful and totally inappropriate under his breath, and instructed them all to bring up chapter eight in their PADDS.

Jim idly flicked through the menus of his PADD, not particularly intent on finding the delegated section – when Sulu leaned in beside him and whispered, “Hey dude. Nice one with Bones. Most people are too scared of him to even joke around.”

Jim angled towards Sulu. “Why d’you call him Bones?”

Sulu grinned. “You’ll see. I wouldn’t want to spoil the surprise.”

Jim nodded slowly. “R _iii_ ght... well.”

“I’m Sulu, by the way.” Sulu held out a fist. “We kind of met yesterday.”

Jim didn’t have the heart to deny the guy a fist-bump, so he went for it. “Yeah, I remember. Kinda.”

Both of them were distracted by Bones’ quick-fire questions about gametes. Jim and Sulu still managed to exchange a couple of unsavoury sex jokes between Bones’ grumping, and by the end of class Jim had to begrudgingly admit that Sulu’s carefree California attitude was refreshing.

What Jim didn’t need was nosy do-gooders or well-meaning snitches, or be poked and prodded as the new kid. Sulu acted like they’d always known each other – as if he didn’t expect a single thing from Jim. And _that_ he could deal with.

Luck was finally in Jim’s favour when he learned that they shared the same classes before lunch – which was actually kind of awesome. He didn’t know what the basis was for dividing students into classes, but if it was by intelligence they were kind of doing it wrong concerning Jim. Not that he’d voluntarily inform anyone. Jim was glad to be in classes with Sulu and he didn’t particularly want to be switched to advanced courses if it was a hassle.

It was fun to moon over Ms. Chapel’s sexy voice in health class, and to bitch about Ms. Hannity’s strict style in English. Jim had almost forgotten he was attending a school of freaks until Sulu walked through the class door and into the hall.

No, literally. _Through_ the door – like a fucking ghost.

Well, at least that had sated Jim’s curiosity over Sulu’s ability – and had reminded Jim that he wasn’t here to make friends. And since lunch followed that eye-opener, Jim did a little disappearing act of his own and booked it to the back gardens. He wasn’t hungry, and his idea of a good time didn’t involve being ogled like a zoo animal.

San Francisco sun beat down as Jim stepped out into the unfamiliar green gardens. He shut his eyes and raised his face to the sky as if in idol worship. Jim heard his own pulse beat sharp and staccato in his ears, as blessed warmth seeped and soothed and rejuvenated his senses.

He’d begun to wryly think of himself as a living battery – a faulty one that needed constant recharging, lest he grow depressed and peter out.

Minutes passed at a sluggish pace, melting in the humid breeze. Jim lay back on the grass and sucked in a heavy, hot breath; the air smelled soaked with sweet pollen and sunscreen. Idly baking beneath the sun, Jim could pretend his life was normal again. Like he hadn’t discovered the power to fry his surroundings – like he hadn’t destroyed everything he held dear because of a temper tantrum.

A picture of his mother swam before his closed eyelids; a visage in blood red and tangerine from the sunlight filtering through his thin flesh. She was lit up – alight and _burning_ and –

Jim snapped up, sucking in a loud, wheezing breath as if his ribcage was still stained with smoke.

He wouldn’t go there. Jim could never go back there – in his mind or in reality. He’d burnt his bridges in the most literal way, and now he had no other place to go but forward.

Feeling buzzed off solar energy and jangled from his own nerves, Jim stomped back into the colossal mansion in a worse mood than he’d been in earlier.

Sulu was nowhere to be found in computer programming. He had flight lessons or something – either way, Jim was jealous as hell about it. Sulu was out there flying and shit while Jim was in a blindingly lit, sterile room, sitting before a large, crystalline monitor.

On the other hand, Jim had quite a view. Specifically, of the boy with golden wings and hair sitting beside him. Jim pulled up the kid’s face from his blurred memory of the day before – some Russian genius or something.

Said kid – he must have been fourteen or something – was practically beaming at him.

“Jim Kirk! Do you remember me? I am Pavel Andreievich Chekov.”

It was kind of difficult to fault him this level of enthusiasm. Jim nodded warily. “Yeah, sure. Couldn’t forget you if I tried.”

Chekov flushed from neck to crown, and the wings tucked against his back twitched. “ _D-Da_ , well. I suppose that is truth.”

Jim was about to assure Chekov that he’d meant it in the nice way, and not referring to the mutant wings – but it seemed like he was in permanent douche mode – and he was distracted by the door at the front of the class opening. In strode tall, stoic Vulcan with _Spock_ at his heels.

Both were entirely expressionless, until Spock murmured something in terse Vulcan behind the other one’s back. To Jim’s surprise – and slight awe – the taller of the two whirled around with unadulterated agitation and snapped something in reply. Spock blinked once and said a single word, before turning away and subtly squaring his shoulders.

Jim was so enamoured with the pure emotion shifting across the unfamiliar Vulcan’s features that by the time he noticed that Spock had been staring at him, he was already taking his place at a console directly behind him. Jim cast a glance to Chekov, who was also eyeing the other Vulcan in the room with a mixture of admiration and fear.

Jim leaned in towards Chekov and said in a hushed tone, “And that is...?”

“Professor Sybok,” Chekov supplied. “He teaches computers, mathematics, and astrophysics. He is _genius_.”

“Seems awfully pissy for a Vulcan.” Thinking back to his first encounter with the Vulcan behind him, Jim said, “Well, I mean, he’s pretty overtly emotional for one.”

“He is not follower of Surak.” Chekov flicked on his computer and Jim followed suit. “He is extraordinary.”

Jim watched as Professor Sybok ran a hand through his dishevelled hair and threw a glare over Jim’s head – clearly in the direction of Spock. What the hell was that all about? Jim wasn’t about to ask out loud, considering his proximity to sensitive ears. He wasn’t anywhere _near_ curious enough to get involved in anything to do with Spock.

“And his ability is what?” Jim prompted, already cursing himself for taking an outward interest.

“Oh, he does not have power,” Chekov said. “He is just very good man.”

Jim blinked. “Oh. Sure.”

Class buzzed by without Jim taking much notice. More often than not he found himself studying the play of emotion on what should be a staid, stoic Vulcan expression. Professor Sybok was fascinating to watch – moreso because of his mysterious relationship with Spock, and the fact that he was the only non-mutant here, as far as Jim knew.

But at the end of the day it was none of Jim’s business. He was curious and all – how could he not be? – but the less questions he asked, the less others could ask of _him_.

So he rode the class out and pretended to look interested until they were dismissed with a flighty flick of the hand by Professor Sybock. Jim filed out beside Chekov, hyper-aware of the amber feathers that accidentally brushed the back of his neck when they squeezed through the doorway at the same time. Creepy – but kinda cool.

Then Spock whisked past them and Jim remembered that he was still pissed about this morning.

“Hey, I need to talk to you for a sec,” Jim said as he caught up to Spock in the hallway.

Spock didn’t even grace him with a glance as he continued walking. “At this point, you’ve been speaking to me for more than a second.”

Jim’s shoulders went stiff as he abruptly grabbed Spock’s wrist and tugged him around a corner, into an empty corridor.

“Wow, you are _so_ clever. I got that now, thanks for sharing,” Jim snapped as Spock yanked his wrist free.

“And you, apparently, are not. So I will make myself perfectly comprehensible. I do not respond favourably to bullies, Mr. Kirk. If you continue to act like a juvenile delinquent, I will limit my interactions with you to the bare minimum.”

Spock’s lips thinned and paled, his chest heaving with a mutely heaved breath. Jim could only stare like an idiot as Spock continued on, now totally devoid of emotion. “Now, I assume that you have a legitimate reason for pulling me aside when we have classes to attend.”

Jim was pretty certain he’d just been unequivocally _owned_.

“ _Yeah_ , actually,” Jim said as he thrust his face into Spock’s unblinking expression. “I’d appreciate it if you’d keep your trap shut when it comes to me and my business. Just because we share a room doesn’t mean we’re _buddies_ , or even people who acknowledge each other’s presence in the halls. I don’t know you – hence me not talkin’ about you behind your back. You’d be smarter than I give you credit for if you get it into your skull that you don’t know me either.”

Spock raised an eyebrow. “Are you finished?”

Jim blinked. “What? _No_. By the fucking _way_ , I could run circles around most of this school when it comes to academics. It’s _your_ fuckin’ malfunction if you see and hear a stupid farm-boy and nothing else. Talk down to me again and I’ll clock you one.”

Spock apathetically swept his gaze over Jim. He took a step back and said in modulated tones, “Your levels of aggression are notable. I suggest you make an appointment with Christine Chapel, or our resident therapist. If you do not do so under your own volition, I assure you that you will have to face the brunt of Professor Pike’s tenacious concern.”

Jim scowled openly. He knew what Spock was telling him. It would be better all around for Jim to have one session a week with a therapist than have Pike on his heels for fuck knows how long. The lesser of two evils.

Still, being told what to do grated on Jim, and he wouldn’t stand for it.

And Jim _totally_ would have had a snappy comeback if it wasn’t for the fact that Spock was _already walking away_ , dammit!

Jim fisted his hands at his sides and called, “Douchebag!” down the hall.

 _Awesome retort, Jim. He won’t think you’re a dumb hick, after all._.

Jim uttered a strangled noise of frustration, pulled out his PADD, and checked his next class: Combat in the courtyard. _Yes_. Just what he needed to let off a little steam.

He was late, of course. It hadn’t helped that Jim had needed to stop and tug on a pair of sweats and a t-shirt that were suitable for easy movement. When he swaggered into the courtyard, all Jim could think was that he was lucky, because it appeared that his instructor was late too.

“Jimmy!” Gaila ran over in short-shorts and knee-high socks. Her hair was in a messy bun atop her head and – good God, her tiny t-shirt left little to the imagination.

Jim gulped and grinned. “Hey again.”

“See now, there’s the handsome smile I knew was hiding out. You scowl enough and your face’ll get stuck like that.”

Jim couldn’t help but smile wider as he rolled his eyes. “Yeah yeah, okay Sunshine. So what’s the deal with this class? Do we get to kick ass or what? Who’s the instructor? A man of steel – a ninja?”

From behind him, Jim registered a chillingly familiar voice saying, “Me.”

Jim whirled to see _Spock_ , of all freaks, standing there. He’d changed into black yoga pants and shirt all in black – and a pair of thin, black leather gloves.

He looked devastating.

He also looked like a smug bastard.

Jim’s smirk was razor sharp.

“Great. Let’s fight.”


	3. Chapter 3

“You are not prepared for me.”

Jim smirked at the utter confidence in Spock’s voice. “I think I can hold my own.”

“I am sure you do,” Spock said in a tone that bristled over Jim in all the wrong ways. “But this is not a course in which to rid ourselves of aggression. We are here to master skills of defence and non-fatal offense.”

Jim rolled his eyes and ignored the crowd of student that had begun to congregate around them.

“Anyone ever tell you how completely boring you are?”

“You will not illicit a response from me, Mr. Kirk,” Spock said blandly as he pulled at the edge of a glove that stopped above the knobby bone of his wrist.

For a moment Jim was distracted by the movement, and the way the knuckles of the glove were cut out in neat holes. Spock’s pale skin flashed and teased, stark and snug amid the dark material with every shift and tighten of his fists.

 _Shit_ , those gloves could do crazy things to a guy’s imagination – which only sent Jim’s hackles rising higher.

He grinned, keeping up his unperturbed appearance. As Jim spoke he slowly circled Spock, his smile only growing when Spock didn’t react or track his movements.

“But don’t you wanna see what I got before we start?”

Spock’s nostrils flared. “That is _not_ what this class is about, and you are wasting everyone’s time. Now fall in line and await today’s lesson.”

“Oh, come _on_ ,” Jim goaded as he stepped up into Spock’s line of sight and blatantly sized him up. “Just throw a punch – one little punch.”

Spock’s jaw worked tightly under his clean-shaven flesh. “No.”

Jim surged into Spock’s personal space, stopping a couple of inches from Spock’s unflinching frame. His smile went predatory.

“ _Yes_.”

Jim was aching to hurt something. His bones cracked under the weight of Jim’s ineffectual anger, his frustration.

His mother had died _three days ago_.

Three days ago she had been alive.

Now she wasn’t.

Now she was ash and dust, blown away in the wind – and Jim hadn’t even been able to bury her.

Professor Pike had appeared beyond the fire and flames like a phoenix or the devil, telling him that they had to leave _now_ or else Jim would be prosecuted as a mutant – or maybe killed.

The Federation liked to play at perfect peace and harmony and that bullshit, but not when it came to muties. Potential dangers to society – uncontrollable and volatile – _deadly_.

Jim had sent his mother up in flames; sent his step-father to an early grave all because –

When Jim had been secured in a hovercar with Pike and a very quiet driver whose name and face meant nothing through the haze of sorrow, Pike had faced Jim.

“I’m taking you somewhere safe.”

“Nowhere is safe if I’m there,” Jim scratched out, his throat still scorched from smoke.

Pike was silent for a long time as he stared out one window, and Jim did the same.

Finally the Professor said, “You’ll be able to heal here. You’ll be able to mourn.”

Jim’s nails dug into his soot-stained palms, cut through skin and oozed blackened blood.

“I’m fine,” he croaked. “I’m fine.”

So despite hating being trapped here – despite despising this prison full of sickeningly altruistic freaks – Jim dove right in. Because he was fine. Just fine.

Jim just wanted to break someone’s face, was all.

And _Spock’s_ pretty one had been very near to Jim since he’d arrived.

Spock’s eyes flashed and hardened as he inclined his chin and looked down his nose at Jim. “We do not fight each other here. Not in the manner in which you wish.”

“And how would _you_ know what I wish?” Jim fired back. “ _Oh_ – oh yeah. Telepath, right – empathy too? You find anything exciting? Tell me, Spock – does it ever bother you to feel everyone’s emotions but your own?”

“I will not be goaded into –”

“Do you ever wonder what’s _you_ and what’s the rest of the world?”

“Your assumptions are asinine and –”

“Must piss you off to have no idea who or _what_ you are, huh?”

Jim would know. He wondered it all the time.

Spock’s top lip twitched in the most subtle snarl as he cocked his head and leaned in towards Jim. “I –”

“Vulcan, mutant, computer? Which is it, Spock – what the hell are you that you can’t even feel you own –”

A psychic shockwave catapulted Jim across the quad; blasted the air from his lungs and left him gasping on the ground as his spine screamed from the fall. A familiar black veil closed over Jim’s vision, seeped into his blood and pumped through his heart. Everything began to burn and spark and curdle, and _fuck_ did Jim feel alive again.

Jim inhaled the scent of charred grass just as he rolled on his stomach and pressed his palms to the ground to stand. The earth beneath him was scorched; crisp and dusty like a bolt of lightning had struck this single spot.

But it wasn’t lightning. It was Jim. And judging by the few distant gasps and the foreboding silence descending upon the group, everyone was beginning to _get_ just what the hell was wrong with Jim Kirk.

He only had to look at his hands, his forearms – all streaked and shot through with what looked like tar, thick and toxic – to get the gist of what they saw.

This wasn’t even a full transformation. Jim knew that, because the first and last time it had happened had been – _well_.

Jim chuckled as he brought himself to his unsteady feet, ignoring the nausea roiling in his stomach. His grin stretched over a face he knew would be mapped in roads and rivers of black – just as he knew the blue of his eyes would be seeping into glimmering white and orange, like the sky relenting to a blinding sunset.

Spock remained several feet away, his expression as openly horrified as a Vulcan’s could be.

Jim felt a spark of shame flare within him; felt it ripple and spread like wildfire through his limbs as he looked at Spock’s face, looked at his peers’ faces. Maybe they were just surprised – maybe they just wanted Jim gone as soon as possible – or maybe they _were_ disgusted. Whatever the play of emotion on their faces, it was directed at Jim, who felt it like another solid psychic blow to the gut.

Despite his growing sense of dread and fury at being swatted aside like a fly, Jim choked out a laugh. He captured Spock’s wide gaze from across the grass and began to stalk forward in a steady march, his hands fisted at his sides.

Jim smelled acrid burning and realised it was his clothes beginning to singe off his frame. They were breaking out in holes like open sores against the heat that licked at Jim’s flesh. Another side-effect he’d discovered while secretly testing his abilities when no one had been around.

See, Jim couldn’t let anything lie. He had to poke, had to prod and look at angles and turn things on their head. It didn’t take long for him to learn that he didn’t simply _burst_ into flame or anything.

Jim was a sunspot – he wasn’t the flame. His body was like a microwave, slowly heating and heating and eventually destroying everything in a thick, slow burn. Jim was the sun that baked the earth and set forests alight. He was a heat that couldn’t be doused – he never stopped, couldn’t stop.

Most of all, he didn’t know _how_ to stop.

So he prowled forward with his teeth bared in a smile-snarl and spread his black-shackled arms out as if to hug Spock.

“Felt good, didn’t it Spock? Wanna try again? Gotta admit you caught me off guard there.”

Spock’s face shut down like a maximum security prison. The silence that blanketed them was more deafening than the blood pounding in Jim’s ears.

“Whaaat? I thought you liked it – _Hey_!”

Spock yanked Jim’s wrist in a cold, iron grip and literally began to drag him away.

“Gaila, I regret to inform you that I will be unable to lead class today,” Spock said in the most fucked-out voice Jim could imagine. “Please take care of the lesson.”

Jim didn’t hear Gaila’s reply because he was busy spluttered and flailing to no avail. A growl surfaced from the depths of his chest as he watched his arm bruise midnight and fervid from the force of Jim’s emotion.

“Fuck you, don’t touch me!” Jim flared and gasped as he watched Spock’s glove begin to melt and peel away around the heat of Jim’s skin. “Let me the fuck _go_ – your glove is burning through, you pointy-eared bastard!”

Jim was being wordlessly dragged inside and pulled up the grand staircase – and his initial reaction of utter contempt was beginning to dissipate as he realised how little control he had against Vulcan strength. He could see and feel the darkness receding as more blotches of tanned skin shyly reappeared.

“ _Spock_ – Christ, _talk_ to me, you asshole!”

Spock whipped around at the top of the stairs, his fingers like steel and his eyes just as cold. “ _Shut up_.”

Jim blinked and boggled, obediently silent due to minor shock. He shivered, the chill originating from the blistering, bright green fingers still clasped around his tainted wrist.

“What do you think you’re gonna do?” Jim asked as he allowed himself to be led like a dog on a fucking leash. No way in hell he was keeping quiet. “Tattle to Pike again – get me kicked out?”

Spock mumbled something under his breath about _childish antics_ and then said, clear and crisp, “Pike will hear of this whether I inform him or not. As for expulsion, I fear for a society that might bear the brunt of your tantrums.”

“Tan- _tantrums_?”

The new sear of Jim’s skin against Spock’s palm, and the accompanying faint flinch from the Vulcan, had Jim’s aggravation boiling over. If Spock wanted to get burned, then let him! Masochistic bastard.

“ _You_ threw the first punch, man. I didn’t even _touch_ you –although neither did you, _really_ , but that’s not the point. The point is it’s not _my_ fault if you can’t keep your shit together. Chill out.”

Spock prowled down the hall with Jim in tow, all smooth loping strides that Jim had to skip and hop to keep up with.

“ _Where_ are you taking me, dammit!” Jim demanded even as Spock jerked open the door to one of the shared bathrooms near their bedroom. “Sorry – what – _wait_.” Jim gulped, all of a sudden feeling incredibly claustrophobic and confused. “What are we – I don’t swing that way, dude.”

Spock actually might have _rolled his eyes_ , but the action was masked when he whipped open the fogged glass door of the shower and literally _shoved_ Jim in.

“What the f– AH!”

An icy spray rained down on Jim and a great plume of steam hissed and rose off Jim’s bared flesh. Jim was too shocked to even form proper swears as frigid water sluiced over his head, plastered what remained of his charred clothes to his body, and clung to his eyelashes.

Spock stood at the open door; cool as a fucking cucumber, with his arms crossed over his chest and one eyebrow raised.

“As you say, _chill out_.”

“You b-bastard,” Jim gritted between clenched teeth and shivers.

Spock looked down at Jim’s feet – so did Jim. His sneakers were melted blobs and clumps around his feet, now coagulating into errant cooled lumps.

Spock pursed his lips and looked back up, his face utterly expressionless but for the triumph in his glittering eyes.

“I believe you need new shoes.”

Jim scowled and spat water in Spock’s general direction as it trickled into his mouth. “I believe you need a new _soul_.”

 _Fuck_. Spock had helped him _again_. Would the nightmare never end?

**Author's Note:**

> Note: Jim's mutation is based on the character Sunspot. In case you were curious!


End file.
